


The Dangers of Orashlach

by Manniness



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/Manniness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarrant can't hold his liqueur (at all!) and at a big to-do at the castle, he publicly declares his lust to a very displeased Alice... who rather starts to like the idea of all those very naughty things he promises to do to her... (prompt: Drunk!Tarrant)</p><p>Notes: OPK-verse. Imagine Tarrant and Alice never performed the Thrice a-Vow... Perhaps they would have eventually gotten together this way...</p><p>FYI: "Orashlach" is the alcoholic beverage that provides the impetus for this whole, raunchy thing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dangers of Orashlach

 

It had started out as a _wonderful_ party!

  
Mirana had finally managed to orchestrate an occasion during which both she and her Champion could don the attire they – well, all right, _Mirana!_ – had fallen in love with during their trip to Shuchland. In fact, when she and Alice had entered the White Hall wearing their glimmering, silk Shuchish  _sarlehs_ and silver anklets, they’d caused quite the stir! Mirana had been too flattered by her betrothed’s unwavering attention to really notice much else for sometime. After all, why wouldn’t Alice be just fine? Just as fine as Mirana in the exotic garb? (For sarlehs are truly _lovely_ inventions of fabric and fashion, Mirana had decided. The very short top which ties over the right shoulder; the long, straight skirt that embraces a woman’s hips; the sheer shawl that reveals more than it conceals draped across the chest... Yes, _wonderful_ things, sarlehs!)

  
Unfortunately, when Mirana _does_ resurface from the adoring gaze of her admirer, it’s to a very familiar shout of burred Outlandish:

  
“I’ll o’ly tell ye this _once_ , _knave._ ‘Tis _my Alice yer_ _ **thinkin’ abou’touchin’an’IF YE DO I’LL BE TAKIN’ THA’HAND AN’—!”**_

  
“ _Hatter!_ ” Alice hisses, reaching out and grabbing his arm. She shakes him hard enough to slosh the contents of the wine glass in his hand.

  
Mirana stares. _The wine glass in his_ _ **hand!**_

  
Oh, botheration. Who had given Tarrant a glass of Orashlach? The man’s never been able to hold his liqueur and Mirana knows – perhaps a bit too well! – how seemingly easy that delectable wine is to drink, how easily one falls under its intoxicating effects.

 _  
Oh... dear..._ she muses, watching the scene play out.

  
“ _HATTER!_ ” Alice shouts, not bothering with stealth now that every single pair of eyes in the hall has been focused on her, the Hatter, and the unfortunate fellow who had wandered a bit too close to the Queen’s Champion.

  
Tarrant blinks, turns, and stares at the hand on his arm. He animatedly follows that appendage up until his gaze clearly examines a bare shoulder and then a slender neck and then...

  
“Alice!” he announces. The delighted exclamation echoes in the hall. Lowering his voice – but not enough to prevent his every word from being overheard – Tarrant says, “My Alice, ye ken I’ll giv’ye _anythin’_ ye desire. Ye d’nae need _this_ sad excuse o’a creature, f’r certain he’ll never apprec’ate ye as _I_ will.”

  
“My desire,” Alice replies in an admirably firm tone, “is for you to put that Orashlach down.”

  
“’Twould be a waste,” he proclaims, his gaze traveling over her in a single, hot look. “’Twould, indeed, teh waste this, Alice. _This..._ ” At this point, Mirana is quite certain Tarrant is _not_ talking about the alcoholic delight in the wine glass. “I’m considerin’ thin’s tha’star’wi’th’letter _taste_ ,” he continues, nimbly moving his glass away when Alice makes a grab for it. His other hand latches onto her wrist, preventing her from withdrawing from him. “How woul’ye taste in tha’dress, my Alice?”

  
Their audience – or rather, the guests – hardly dare to breathe, wondering (or, perhaps, dreading) what more the Royal Hatter would dare to say to the Queen’s Champion in a public venue.

  
“D’ye ken how _curious_ I am abou’tha’Alice?” He leans closer yet, his grip still quite firm on Alice’s wrist. Determinedly, she meets his gaze even as she reaches up with her other hand to attempt to pry loose his fingers. “Were I teh kiss ye, suck yer ear, lick down yer neck teh yer breast, close my mouth aroun’yer—”

  
“That’s enough, Mister Hightopp!” Alice says loudly. “Kindly hand over your Orashlach. You’ve had enough for one night.”

  
He tosses the glass over his shoulder. Several guests dodge the projectile and its contents. Mirana is on the verge of releasing a relieved breath when Tarrant employs the use of his suddenly unoccupied hand and runs the backs of his fingers down Alice’s throat, over her breast and—!

  
Alice... _growls._

  
Mirana blinks. As do many of the courtiers who have never yet had the privilege of seeing the Queen’s Champion lose her very formidable temper. “ _Tarrant Hightopp, you uncivilized clod!_ ” She steps back and, using her momentum and his dubious balancing abilities, manages to get him to stumble in the direction of the door. “ _OUT!_ ” she shouts.

  
Mirana stands as Alice practically manhandles the Hatter toward the great double doors. “Alice? Would you like any assistance escorting Mister Hightopp to his room?”

  
Alice turns and with a dangerously dark look grits out, “No, Your Majesty. It’ll be my _pleasure_ to make sure this disruption is taken care of.”

 _  
Don’t damage him!_ Mirana almost calls out, but somehow manages to hold her tongue. In the next instant, Alice has shoved the Hatter out the door and then follows him. The door gently closes behind them and, bit by bit, the guests return to their conversations. Which, oddly enough, now concern the fate of the Royal Hatter at the hands of a very _irritated_ Champion.

 

 

*~*~*~*

 

 _You are going to pay for this, Tarrant._

  
Alice keeps her grip tight around his arm as she _hauls_ him down the hall and up the stairs. She forces him to concentrate on his feet in the hopes that his hands and mind won’t start wandering all over her... again.

 _  
Yes, you’re definitely going to pay,_ she promises him.

Reaching his room, she throws open the door, pushes him across the threshold, and roughly spins him around to face her.

  
“ _Och..._ ” he manages, struggling to focus on her. “Alice?”

  
“Tarrant.”

  
He smiles. “Ye chose me o’er tha’... tha’...  Ye d’nae ken how happy tha’ makes me, Alice. I won’d’sappoint ye.”

  
“Are you giving me your _word_ on that?” she dares, not bothering to hide her malicious glee.  _How can I use this to exact revenge...?_

  
“ _Aye,_ I swear on me hat. I’ll do anythin’ye want, lass. I’ll lick yer toes, kiss behind yer knees, I’ll taste ye so deep ye’ll scream—”

  
“That’s quite a promise,” Alice comments, pushing him back toward the bed. She notes his uncoordinated stumbling - the harbinger of a good, long, drunken slumber - and expects it won't be long before the Hatter is fast asleep. So it seems safe enough to tease, perhaps a bit cruelly, “But how can I allow you to begin when you’re wearing so many clothes?”

  
For a moment, he blinks. And then a slow smile spreads across his features. In the next instant, he’s yanking his cravat off and dealing with his waistcoat buttons with frightening efficiency.

  
Alice gulps.  Perhaps that hadn't been the best rhetorical question to pose; she'd forgotten how very _fast_ those fingers can move!  At this rate, he'll finish disrobing  _long_  before he passes out!  She hastily considers various methods for distracting him from his objective... perhaps with a riddle?

  
At the thought of riddles, of course, she thinks of the raven and the writing desk...

 _  
The writing desk!_

  
In a flash of inspiration, the _perfect_ plan for restitution comes to her.  Smiling, Alice steps over to Tarrant’s writing desk as he deals with his shoes and stockings. She selects a sheet of parchment and inks the quill and says, “Would you mind repeating what you said downstairs in the hall? Where did you say you wanted to... taste me?”

  
She glances over her shoulder as a weak groan replies to her request. Hands on the fastenings of his trousers, Tarrant pauses – obviously, those glasses of Orashlach are impairing his normally impressive ability to multitask – and elaborates:

  
“If ‘twould please ye, Alice, I’d kiss yer lips, suck yer ear, lick down yer throat teh...”

  
Alice does her best to keep up, the quill scratching across the page as he details his plans for her.

  
“... migh’turn ye over an bite th’inside o’yer thighs – not too hard – then use me tongue teh...”

  
Despite herself, Alice can’t help the blush. Tarrant continues to outline all the carnal activities he’d like to explore with her, requiring very little prompting.

  
Alice is still scribbling his narrative across the parchment when she hears him moving closer. She suppresses a shiver when he places his hands – no thimbles tonight and only one bandage – on her shoulders, leans down and whispers in her ear:

  
“’Twould be heaven teh be inside ye, lass, but I’ll no’ask f’r tha’ f’r tonigh’ is f’r _ye_ an’ I’ll use me hands, me lips, me tongue all aroun’n’inside ye ‘til ye cannae come anymore... an’then I’ll make ye come _again._ ”

  
Dutifully – if with shaky fingers – Alice makes a note of it.

  
“Will ye come teh bed wi’me, Alice?” he murmurs, his breath stirring her hair.

  
Alice nearly snaps the quill in two. She clears her throat, finishes the document with a flourish. “If you’ll just sign here, Mister Hightopp,” she whispers back.

  
He leans over her shoulder, wraps his hand around hers, presses his nose against her neck and inhales deeply as he guides her hand across the parchment, signing his name.

  
“Excellent,” Alice manages. “Now, you know, as Champion, it’s my duty to take these interviews – and not just on the Queen’s behalf but also on my own – _very_ seriously. I’ll need a few moments to review this and then I’ll be with you shortly.” She nods in the direction of the bed. “If you’d be so kind...?”

  
“Hmm...” he agrees and leaves her to her work. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice watches Tarrant meander his way to the bed. When he reaches it, he nearly trips over the edge and slides back to the floor, but – by some miracle of momentum – ends up lying across it. A few moments later, his buzzing snores fill the room.

  
“As I thought,” she whispers to herself. Then, smiling, she rolls up the parchment, dashes out a small note which she places upon the bedside table, and lets herself out of the room.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Tarrant has always been a bit of a celebration enthusiast. His skills in Futterwhacken attest to his passion when it comes to parties – and, thus, not only ones dedicated to tea! (Although, those are perhaps the safest, considering his low tolerance for alcoholic beverages.)

  
That unfortunate handicap makes itself known when he opens his eyes only to be greeted by an overly cheerful beam of sunlight, a muzzy head, and the inability to focus his eyes on anything other than the disturbing feeling of _deep_ regret floating in the air around him.

  
The questions are typical: _What happened? What aren’t I remembering? How did I get here? Will there be anyone brave enough to forgive me and join me for high tea today?_ (For he seriously doubts he’ll manage to be up and about in time for afternoon tea.)

  
Groaning, Tarrant rolls over – notes the fact that he’s only dressed in his trousers and all of the buttons had been undone – and pours himself a glass of stale water from the sideboard. After he drinks, winces, wishes himself either dead or able to stuff the sun into his beloved hat for the rest of the day, and sighs in resignation, he realizes that there is something _else_ on the sideboard. A note.

  
Frowning, he picks it up and struggles to read the words as they jump and blur across the page:

 _  
Hatter,_

 _After you’ve recovered completely, please see me. We have business to discuss._

 _Alice_

  
Tarrant lies back down and continues frowning. _Business?_ he wonders. That sounds a bit odd. For, yes, he has several commissions that are due to be finished within the week, but why would Alice feel it necessary to discuss those with him? Unless...

 _  
Oh!_

  
He grins. Unless Alice would like _him_ to make a hat for _her!_

  
He giggles. He’s never made a hat for Alice. She’s never given him any indication that she would wear one, and – quite honestly – it would be a shame to cover up any more of her than is absolutely necessary...

  
Tarrant frowns, shakes his head, groans at the way his brain wobbles within his skull, and scolds himself:

 _  
None of_   
_  
**those**   
_   
_thoughts about Alice, lad!_

  
No, no, of course not. Why, he never knows when he might become distracted or slip into one of his... _m_ _oods_ and then, well... it simply wouldn’t do _at all_ for _**those kinds of things**_ to be said _out loud!_

  
Tarrant lies in bed, dozing and thinking of the correct hat for Alice, the just-right Champion’s hat... or perhaps the just-right Alice hat... or perhaps the just-only _his_ Alice hat which would be meant to be worn all by itself with no accompanying accessories or baubles or tunics or... Right. That would be one of _those_ thoughts he shouldn’t be having!

  
As he’d predicted, it’s time for high tea before Tarrant manages to get out of bed and bathe and decide he’ll survive long enough to measure Alice for her new hat. Picking up the note – for it’s an invitation to visit Alice and he’d hate to have that visit delayed due to having left it behind! – Tarrant makes his way down the hall and up the stairs to the Queen’s Champion’s chambers. Several frog footmen give him odd, speculative stares as he passes, but Tarrant doesn’t let any of that bother him. After all, he has an appointment with Alice!

  
Arriving at her door, he gathers his composure, sweeps off his hat, combs his eyebrows a bit, and knocks.

  
“Come in.”

  
He does. “Good evening, Alice.”

  
She stands and Tarrant turns toward her, giving her a brilliant smile. Oh, how lovely she looks in her tunic and breeches! Not that he has anything against dresses, but dresses simply do not show off the curve of a calf or the swell of a hip with quite the same accuracy...

 _  
Stop_   
_  
**those**   
_   
_thoughts, lad!_

  
Yes. Right. Alice. Business. “Hat!” he says.

  
“Good evening to you, too,” she replies, motioning to the small sitting area. “Tea?” she asks.

  
He nods. “Why, thank you, Alice.”

  
She sorts out the beverages and then, taking a seat in the armchair across from his, Alice crosses her legs – lovely legs, even if they are covered from waist to ankle in those breeches! – and regards him with a mysterious smile. “You look fully recovered from last night,” she remarks.

  
“Ah, yes! Fit as a fish’s fin! Fancy that!” He chuckles into his teacup.

  
“And you got my note,” she continues.

  
Setting his cup down, he reaches for it – so glad he’d thought to bring it with him! – and removes it from his waistcoat pocket. “Yes, I did, indeed, and I must admit, I’m most intrigued, Alice.”

  
“Are you?”

  
“Of course! It’s a momentous occasion, is it not?”

  
“I suppose it could be called that.”

  
“Could be? It is, of course! It’s not every day my services are requested for such a grand venture.”

  
“I should hope not.”

  
Tarrant’s eyes flicker at the odd comment, but he carries on: “Well, yes...  Alice, I’d just like to say how very much I’m looking forward to this.”

  
“I am as well.”

  
He smiles. “Wonderful! Then, shall we get started? If you’ll but allow me a few moments and access to your person, I believe we can get this project underway!”

  
Alice nods, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Of course.”

  
Tarrant stands and, with an offered hand, helps Alice to her feet. He reaches into his pocket and removes a measuring tape. “If you’ll pardon me, I’ll merely...”

  
Tarrant’s voice trails off as Alice gently pulls the measuring tape from his hand and carefully lays it on the table. “That won’t be necessary.”

  
He frowns. “It won’t?” How odd... Alice has never interfered with his work before... Nor has she ever pretended to be particularly knowledgeable about it...

  
“No, it won’t. The business I asked you here to discuss does not require a measuring tape.”

  
“It... doesn’t?” Tarrant thinks very hard about that, going so far as to pull the note from his pocket – where he’d replaced it only moments ago – and study its message. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Alice. If you do not wish to commission a hat, then what business do we have to discuss?”

  
Alice gives him a look of _deep_ and profoundly unsettling sensuality. “You may want to have a seat, Hatter,” she invites, returning to hers.

  
Unaccountably nervous, he does.

  
“And read this, if you please.”

  
He accepts the rolled parchment she hands him.

  
As he begins to open it, she amends, “Read it... aloud.”

  
Tarrant glances at her, suddenly _very_ inexplicably anxious, clears his throat, and begins:

  
“If it would please you, Alice, I would kiss your...”

  
A clock, somewhere in the room, ticks. Tocks. Ticks again.

  
“Yes? I believe there’s more. If you would continue?” Alice asks in a reasonable tone.

  
Tarrant gapes at the parchment in his shaking hands, at the utter debauchery that had been hastily – but quite legibly! – penned. He stares at the mind-bogglingly, breath-stealingly, pulse-racingly _**naughty**_ things described in exquisite detail. All of which are proposed to be done to Alice’s person. And, finally, he absorbs the sight of his signature at the bottom of the page:

 _  
I, Tarrant Hightopp, do hereby swear to perform the above mentioned acts upon Alice Kingsleigh once I am capable of doing so adequately._

 _  
**TARRANT HIGHTOPP**   
_

  
“I... I...”

  
It’s not until Alice speaks that Tarrant realizes he’d been the one stuttering.

  
“You had a bit too much to drink last night,” Alice informs him unnecessarily – the muzzy misery he’d awakened to had already alerted him to that fact, thank you! “And you said a few things – see paragraph one – rather publicly.”

  
In his chair, Tarrant feels himself shrink and shrivel – as if his tea had contained a slow-acting dose of Pishsalver – at the very thought of saying a single sentence of this _aloud!_ _**In public!**_ ** _TO ALICE!_**

  
“At first, I was rather... upset with you, Tarrant.”

  
Despite his mortification, he can’t help the gasp he draws in at the sound of his name spoken in Alice’s soft voice.

  
“But as you detailed your... offer, I have to admit, I admired your... muchness.”

  
He very  _nearly_ looks at her.

  
“And I’ll give you two choices. Your first choice: throw the contract in the fire and we’ll never speak of it again.”

  
Tarrant glances at the small fire in the hearth. Again, he almost glances in Alice’s direction, but stops himself in time.

  
“The second choice: read it to me. Every word. And following that, I will let you do those things to me. _With_ me. Tonight.”

  
Startled, Tarrant cannot _resist_ looking at her now! He gapes, his mouth opens and closes in silence, his fingers curl and crumple the parchment, his eyes shift between her smile, her eyes and the _muchness_ he sees there, and the play of the firelight on the bare skin of her neck and hands.

  
“Alice...?” he forces himself to ask. “Are you... quite... mad?”

  
She smiles. “It must seem that way. Perhaps I am. Would you care to join me? The choice is yours, Tarrant.”

  
He closes his eyes and sighs. Ah... she’d spoken his _name!_ Horribly, horridly, wretchedly, wonderfully, miraculously, marvelously...!

  
Slowly, Tarrant opens his eyes. He lifts his gaze and meets Alice’s. With his mind made up and his resolution set, Tarrant focuses on the parchment and reads:

 _  
If it would please you, Alice, I would kiss your lips, suck your ear, lick down your throat to your breast, close my mouth around your nipple and catch it between my teeth._

 _  
I would taste every curve, every hollow, every part of you with my tongue. I would chart you with my fingertips and mark you with my kisses. I would imprint myself upon your body and you would know that you command me utterly, completely, totally. I will do your bidding until you tell me to stop._

 _  
I’ll do anything you want; I’ll lick your toes, kiss behind your knees, taste you so deep you’ll scream, suck you so long you’ll think you’re dying. I’ll bring you to heaven and then I’ll take you beyond._

 _  
I’ll turn you over and push your knees wide open for me. I’ll bite you on the inside of your thighs – not too hard – and then I’ll lick and breathe and blow gentle breaths over you, and if you give that to me, Alice, I’ll kiss and bite the back of your neck as my fingers enter you, as you ride them and take your pleasure from them. I’ll press you down against the bed and open you, rub you, bring you to such pleasure you’ve never before felt._

 _  
It would be heaven to be inside you, Alice, but I’ll not ask for that, for tonight is for you and I’ll use my hands, my lips, my tongue all around and inside you until you cannot come anymore and then I’ll make you come again._

  
Tarrant continues to stare at the contract, his heart pounding, his body enflamed. He’s so hard it nearly _hurts_. He looks up.

  
Alice regards him from the armchair, her eyes are heavy-lidded and her posture is destroyed. Her breasts move sharply with each breath and her lips shimmer as if she’d licked them.

  
The only sound in the room is the dry, crackling pop of the fire and dry, crumpling rustle of the contract in his hands.

  
“Tarrant,” Alice whispers.

  
He swallows. “Aye.”

  
For a long moment, she says nothing. And then: “Yes, I think that... _you_ would please me very much.”

  
“I shall endeavor to meet your expectations, Alice.”

  
She smiles, stands, leans over him and collects his shaking hands in hers. “Then take me to bed.”

  
He does.

  
And much later, as Alice sleeps curled up in his arms and he himself is a moment away from slumber, Tarrant marvels at the dangers... and the rewards that come from too much Orashlach.

 

The End

 


End file.
